The Shepherd and the Song
by Pogonia Medusa
Summary: Set long ago but not so far away, a short tale about one of Hogwarts' minor characters


Disclaimer: The characters in this story, except for one minor one, belong to J.K. Rowling. 

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The Shepherd and the Song 

by Pogonia and Medusa

"Tell me a story, Da," said the boy, snuggling under his blanket. Across the great room from his pallet his father sat in the rocking chair by the fire, his lap full of wool.

"What'll ye hear, then, son?" he asked. "Rashie-coat? The Water o' Life?" 

"Nae more aboot kings an' princes," pleaded the boy. "One aboot aboot folk like us."

"Folk like us" The man leant back and stroked his chin. "There's one"

Once there was an old shepherd who lived alone with his little son on a humble croft. Life was never easy, no matter how hard they worked, but they had each other for company. One spring at lambing the old man caught a fever in his lungs. As he lay dying he told his son, "Go to your uncle who is the Wizard of Inverness and a great sorceror. Now the two of us never got along, but he's always helped me out when I've asked him and I'm sure he'll take you in." Then he blessed his son and died.

Now it was a long and a sore journey for that young lad all that way on foot, but when he got to Inverness he went to the house of his uncle and knocked on the great polished door. The servant who opened it was on the point of sending him away, but when the lad told his name, he brought him inside and led him through marble hallways to a room hung with tapestries. There he saw the wizard seated at a grand desk, wearing black robes and writing something with a quill. He looked down his long nose at the boy and frowned. 

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"My father's dead, and ere he died he told me to come to you," replied the boy.

With that the wizard jumped to his feet. "So he's dead! My brother dead! For years he's done nothing but putter around up in that old croft and beg me for money. And now he's gone, he expects me to look after you?" 

Those words stung the boy, so he put his chin up and said, "The reason I'm here, Uncle, is to work off his debts." 

With that the uncle gave him a long, searching look. "Very well, I'll hold you to your word. You can be my apprentice for seven years. You'll look after my herbs and my magical animals. My servants will provide what you need." 

So inside a few days the boy was tending everything from dragons and unicorns to scarabs and salamanders, and pulling weeds from an herb garden that was near as big as his father's croft. But the work was no harder than he had known, and he had a warm bed, plenty to eat, and a few lessons in reading and writing, so it wasn't such a bad life. And when he found he could do a bit of magic himself, he was well content.

Things went on in this way for seven years, and when he came of age he asked his uncle for permission to leave. His uncle looked at him up and down and frowned. "You're not a bad lad, for your father's son, " he said, nodding his gray head. "You've paid off your father's debts as you said you would. They're settled." 

"I thank you," said the young man, who bowed and turned to go.

"Not so fast," said the wizard quickly. "There's still the matter of your own food and lodging these seven years; to settle that you must stay and work for me until All Hallow's Eve of next year."

So the young man went back to the stable and the herb yard, and worked with a will toward his day of freedom, though his tasks seemed ever more dangerous and difficult. To make them go easier he learned to charm himself bigger and smaller – smaller to teach the winged horses to carry riders, larger to hold the dragons steady while he nicked their tail veins or pulled off scales. 

On All Saints' Day of the next year he went to his uncle and asked him, "Is there anything else you'll be needing before I leave?"

Now it seemed to him that his uncle looked gray and tired as he leaned over his parchment. Haltingly he rose from his desk and embraced the young man. "I'm well pleased with you, nephew," said he. "In these years I have seen you grow into a man of honor. You owe me nothing more; indeed, I would ask something of you. Since my youth I've studied the magic of the giants. Now I find I need just one more thing to master it completely, and that's the song the giants are said to sing on Hogmanay, to renew their powers for the new year. I'm too old to go to the giants' country and hear it for myself, but if you bring me back that song I will grant you a boon in return; you may ask anything in my power." He gave the young man a purse of gold and a wallet of food and bid him a safe journey, with one warning. "One thing you must remember, and that is never to lie to a giant, for they can tell truth from falsehood and they'll kill a liar as soon as look on him."

So the young man started walking through the falling leaves into the hills where the giants lived, and he walked and searched through the bare forests and over the snowy rocks and moors until it was the eve of Hogmanay, and he hadn't seen a single giant. As he sat by his little fire in disappointment, he heard heavy footsteps and a harsh voice. Quickly he charmed himself and all his gear to giant size, and just in time, for a young giantess strode into the clearing, shaking the snow off her furs and tossing her black curls. 

"Hail brother!" she boomed. "Now aren't you an odd fellow, dressed in men's clothes, and burning your food like a man." 

"It's a miracle to look upon someone my own size," exclaimed the young man. "I've just come from the castle of the Wizard of Inverness, where I've lived from childhood as a captive of sorts. The only ways I know are men's ways. How do you come to speak the language of men?"

At that the giantess pushed him so he fell back in the snow and laughed at him. "Now then," she said, "don't be making sport of me. For all I'm only a shepherdess I know a few things." Then she hauled him up out of the snow and gave him a friendly whack on the back that would have flattened an oak tree.

"Come wi' me then," said the giantess, "for it's Hogmanay when all us giants gather for singing and dancing and feasting and marrying and meeting in council." So the young man followed her and her herd over hill and stream, and as they walked he sang to himself and the giantess listened. "A strange spell but passing fair," said she, "and what's its purpose?"

"Purpose? Just for pleasure," said the young man.

"Ah, a joy-spell," she said. "And do men have any songs for love?"

"Happy and sorrowful ones." he replied. "Which would you hear?" 

"Both," she said. And so walking and singing, they made their way to a dale where a huge bonfire was burning and hundreds of giants were gathered round, from babes to old men and crones, drinking mead and ale and eating huge joints of raw meat. And that evening the giants held their council meeting, and sang the magical songs of their kind to keep the wind blowing, and the grass growing, and the moon glowing, and the burns flowing, and the mountains steadfast in their places. 

As midnight approached the giantess told him, "Now we will sing our song of power seven times seven times. Listen well and learn it, but never sing it except perfectly, and never sing it alone, or a doom will come on you. If you lose your way as you sing, fall silent for a bit; the rest of us will keep the tune going." Then they sang, and the young man joined in when he had learnt it and sang it with them perfectly until the singing was over. 

Then the oldest giant rose and asked, "Now who'll be married this New Years' Day?" whereupon the giantess pulled the young man forward into the circle. 

"We're to be married?" he gasped.

"Didn't you sing me love songs?" she asked. "I've never heard a bonnier marriage proposal. I knew you were a giant of honor." The oldest giant made them join their hands under a pine bough and a holly bough. Thus they were married, and the celebrating began anew.

The next morning the young man awoke next to his new bride. What'll become of me? he wondered. I can't go back to Inverness. There's no place for a giantess there, and neither a man of honor nor a giant of honor would abandon his wife. As for the giants' song of power, its warnings make it useless to my uncle. Yet I don't want to live with the giants either, sleeping in the cold, eating raw meat and being hunted by men. "I know a place we can go," he told her when she awoke. "The wizard's brother had a small farm far from any town, but he died. We can live there." And so with giant steps they traveled there and set about rebuilding the place. 

At first they were happy as two birds, their days filled with work and their nights with singing and sparking, but by and by the deception began to weigh on the young man's heart. One evening he resolved to tell his wife, and began by saying, "Dear, there is something I must tell you." 

The giantess ran to his side and embraced him, saying, "I have something to tell you first. Could you have guessed it? We are going to have a child!" They rejoiced together for a time, and then the man said, "I fear my news is not so happy. You can tell truth from falsehood, so you know I will always love you and our child and will never leave you. The truth is that I am a man, and a wizard." He showed her his wand and changed back to his natural size. 

The poor giantess screamed and fell to the floor, sobbing "What will become of me, all alone and far from my people? What will become of me?" and that night she slept outdoors under the trees and would not let him come near her. The next morning she seemed to feel better, smiling at him when he found a lost needle, and clapping her hands when he showed how he could change size at will. But over the next few moons she grew sad and restless, so much that no song could cheer her. He knew she was longing to be with her people, so he told her she might visit them. 

"Take anything of ours that you wish, but travelling light means travelling fast." So leaving her flocks with him, she went off one summer's day. For a fortnight the man worried and grieved, wondering if she would return, but back she came, rosy-cheeked and gay and full of stories and gossip. The same thing happened at midwinter, and the man thought, "She is so happy there, that when our child is born, she'll take it along, and mayhap she'll never come back to me." 

So he told her he must go to Inverness. There he found his uncle, still eager for the giants' song, though he was now frail and bedridden. He contrived to write down the song for him, both the words and the tune, with all the warnings. In return the wizard cautioned him to sing a song that would keep his wife at home, since the Aurors, who guarded their own size people, had begun killing giants on sight.

When the man returned to his croft he gave his giant wife a ring, telling her they were now married in the ways of men as well as giants, and when she lay their son in his arms it was the happiest day of their lives. But when he told her of his uncle's warning, she was overcome with anger, and strode about the hills pulling up trees in her worry and rage. 

Each year in the spring and fall she grew restless and moody, and each midsummer and midwinter she took the child to visit her people. Now, though, she travelled by night and hid during the day, and when she returned her face showed more sorrow than joy. Alas, when she set off one midwinter, the man thought she had gone for aye. She stayed away many weeks, and when she returned she was scarred and gaunt, her great hands blue with chilblains, and the wean thin and silent. Though he pressed her, she would not speak of what she had seen, saying only that the giants had vowed to tell no man what had befallen them nor anything of their plans. It was only in the town that he heard that Aurors had ambushed the giants' winter council meeting.

The Spring that year brought no joy to the man and his wife, for each one dreaded what might come to pass at midsummer. Angry and resolute, the wife vanished for days at a time, until they never knew when she would be home and when away. One morning the man took his son fishing and as he cast his line, the boy dropped bits of wood into the water. "Build me a boat, Da," said he.

"Why should I, son, when ye've a whole navy in your pocket?" asked the man.

"Because these are too small to go to Norroway," replied the boy. 

The next day the man hastened to his uncle's bedside in Inverness. "Uncle, I would claim the boon you granted me," he said. "Help my wife's people to escape this land and join their brothers in the North."

But the old man only shook his head sadly. "Why do you refuse me?" asked his nephew. "You're a wise and a powerful wizard, and you've always spoken to me of honor."

"I was a powerful wizard," replied the uncle. "In my younger days I could have conjured a grand fleet of ships, swift as the wind, to ferry a thousand giants to Norroway. But I'm an old man now, weak and forgetful. Half the spells I begin, I cannot complete. What would happen to your wife's people if their ships vanished halfway across the sea? No, the only way I can keep my promise to you is to sing the giants' song of power." 

"Then let us sing it together, and quickly," said the young man. The old man shook his head again. "The danger is too great. If one of us should falter, the other would be singing alone. But if your wife sang with us" He gazed at his nephew. "Ask her."

So it came to pass that on midsummer's night a hundred starving giants gathered on a dark point of land near Inverness. Some looked silently out over the North Sea, while others looked toward the hills, watching their sister and her husband carry in the old wizard on a litter. As they sang the song of power seven times, the frail old man rose from his sickbed. As they sang it seven times again, he conjured a fleet of stout boats, and as they sang it seven times more, the waiting giants embarked. Waving and singing, they sped away across the sea, and as their voices faded the three on shore took up the song to complete the seven times seven: the old wizard, the young man, and the giantess with the sleeping child strapped to her back. As they neared the end of the song the wizard raised his hand to signify that the boats had landed safely. But alas, he had forgotten his count and continued to sing on alone after the other two had finished. His doom came upon him, and he clutched his heart and collapsed dead upon the shore.

In sorrow, the little family returned to their farm to plant and till and herd as before. But parted from her people, the giantess could never again be content. She fell into dark moods, and when they were upon her she would visit the old council gathering place, and the point of land, and other giantish places, heedless of the dangers. At last she disappeared altogether; yet to this day, her husband still lives at the croft with their son, hoping for her safety and waiting for her return.

"Tell it again, Da," begged the boy. 

"Nay, son, ye maun sleep noo."

The boy was quiet for a moment, watching his father count stitches. 

"Is it a true story, Da? I wish it were. I wish I could meet sich a giant lad."

The man broke into a grin. "Och, do ye? Are ye brave enough to meet a great laddie like that? Wouldn't ye run an' hide frae him?"

"Would not!"

The man folded his knitting. "Well, I suppose I could show ye a picture of him, if ye're not too sleepy tae fetch it oot."

At this the boy scrambled out of bed. "Whaur is it?"

"Aneath the windae in the kitchen, next tae my shaving basin."

There was a flurry of nightshirt and bare feet, and a moment of quiet.

"Ah, Da, ye're jokin' me. That's nae picture, it's nocht but yer wee mirror." 

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[http://home.att.net/~Doomspell/Doomspell/Homex.html][1]

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   [1]: http://home.att.net/~Doomspell/Doomspell/Homex.html



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